Little Tranquillity
by Marguerite Thian
Summary: In a world where Beth survives scarlet fever, like her elser sisters, and Amy does not exist, and Jo goes to Europe, Beth turns into Laurie's only refuge. And perhaps he will find that Jo's little sister, forever optimistic little Beth, is much better than any love of his? Co-posted on AO3.
1. Tender Matters

**Tender Matters: in which someone decides to avoid someone**

Jo could not have received any letter more well-timed. Aunt March was going to Europe, and, without fail, wanted Jo to go with her.

'I must set of at once. I cannot stand being in the presence of the cross boy. He shall hate me forever, I am sure, but oh, this is madness! Will I fit for Europe? Am I too topsy-turvy to be in France? Oh, Marmee, I just wish I had half of Beth and Meg's good sense and brains!' she cried in the midst of confusion of the family on receiving the letter.

Mrs March bended over her work with a shake of her head. 'Now, Jo, be sensible. Aunt March must have chosen you for a reason, and I suppose she has a secret wish of polishing you up.'

Beth secretly giggled behind her book and Meg tried to hide her grin by bending over Daisy. Jo saw, and cried indignantly, 'Whatever is so funny, may I ask?'

'Oh, a mere trifle! Only that the idea of Aunt March trying to polish you seems to pleasantly strange that a person cannot really help laughing,' Mrs Brooke replied with a grin and a nod.

That was a welcome thought, and even Jo had to think it so irresistibly funny that she laughed till she choked and had a fit with her face buried in the sofa. Beth poked her arm and pulled her out of the cushions. 'Don't be silly, Jo. If you want to go, then you shall. I should not care tuppence about what Aunt March is going to do. If she wants you to dance, Flo shall teach you. If she wants you to wear stiff Paris dresses, then you could try to please her, would you not?'

'I could if I tried, but if Aunt March is to be disagreeable I should like to stay home more,' was Jo's only reply. Had Miss March been a genius at French she would not have cared at all about her Aunt March's croaking at her, but Jo March was no genius. Not three months ago she had displayed before her aunt how much of a dunce she was at French and not two months ago had her younger sister accidentally slipped out three sentences perfectly in French before both her aunts and her cousin. Jo knew, quite well enough, that Aunt March was to give her a good polishing and make her just as sophisticated as her sisters, but by Jove! Jo could not manage a whole day with her aunt, and going off to Europe meant spending every minute with her! Quiet, docile Beth would be a better choice of a companion. And just to make things worse, Jo could barely stand Florence. 'A ridiculous baby', Jo called her, and found her habit of finding everything interesting most silly.

Beth sighed. 'Jo, you really have to make up your mind. If you are to go, there shall be all blessings from us, but if you are not, you shall receive equal blessing from us, but Aunt March shall rage.'

Jo didn't know what to do, or what to think. She sighed with a yank of her hair, 'I know I must go, but the company is barely tolerable. If any of you are to go, it should be so much of a comfort.'

'My daughter, you know fairly well none of us can afford to go. Beth is not completely well, Meg can never leave her children, I am too lazy to travel and your mother cannot leave me,' her father tried.

Jo sat still for some moments and, said, at last, 'Fine. I shall go directly. And as for the almost intolerable company: I must try my best to cope.' And turning to her younger sister, 'I shall send for you by-and-by, Beth, when Aunt March thinks it acceptable.'

'Acceptable?'

'Do you truly think, Beth, that Aunt March will want to have two people under her wing at once, when one is annoying? Aunt Carrol might, without hesitation, be welcoming, but Aunt March, no, no!'

Mrs March could really contain herself no longer. 'Jo, Beth has no intention of going along, and pray, if you are to go, dear, do write to your aunt.'

Jo walked away for her pens, muttering things that even she did not understand under her breath. Meg glanced at her, and whispered to her mother, 'Marmee, dear, I should make sure that the girl is completely fine with the plan. She seems to be agreeing to go because we seem to want her to.'

Beth was really to jump to her sister's defence, and cried at once, 'Oh, no, Meg, I am quite certain she wants to go, only that she is not quite at ease of leaving me here, but pray, do not mistake me, I have no intention of leaving home.'

Jo overheard, and wept silent tears over her letter, her pen lingering over the paper, as if about to cross out what she had written. She lingered longer, thought about her sisters' words, signed her letter, and set down her pen. _They_ believed in her. _They_ knew she wanted to go. _They_ knew she had to go away. They believed she could survive with the boring, ridiculous aunt.

Jo March sighed again, and pushed her inkstand aside. All she could do was to wait for Aunt March to come.

.o.O.o.

_My dearest Aunt, _

_I must confess to be shocked to receive your letter, for I had never suspected you to take a fancy to me, but I am much gratified to you, and will accept your generous offer, to accompany you to Europe. I hope I shall not be a burden to you, for I am much clueless about languages, and more so about fashion, but I am very gratified, forgive me for saying so again, for I am so entirely without words. _

_Yours truly, _

_Josephine_

Aunt March glanced at Aunt Carrol, then at her youngest niece again, as if to figure out some clues, only to find them quite unable to solve the enigma.

'There!' cried she, shoving Jo's note under her nieces' noses. 'That is quite unlike Josephine. Elizabeth, what do you make of that?'

'She was out of humour, I daresay,' Aunt Carrol said quickly, and added, 'Or perhaps too excited to be as careless as usual.'

Beth sat as demurely as she could manage in between her two aunts. 'Aunt, should you like me to play a song or two? This room is quite in want of some music.'

It was quite a miracle, that Beth, the quiet, piquant little Beth, had managed to capture both her aunts' hearts, and Aunt March, quite charmed by her little antics, traded her_ Josy-phine_ for her youngest niece. Beth was not quite easily persuaded, at first, but the old lady kindly arranged the great pianoforte all for her personal use, complete with her own teacher, and under such tempting conditions Beth could have agreed with twice as terrifying a mistress. The old aunt, with a surprising maternal eye, observed the child's want of books, and offered her entire collection to her new favourite. And that was all little Beth could ask for, to love and be loved.

'Yes please, my dear, do, and I should like the last one you played, the French song,' Aunt Carrol said at once, lest Aunt March asked questions they could not answer.

Beth wondered a moment, and asked, '"_Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman_"?'

'Ah, yes, the one.'

Beth retreated to the pianoforte, and began blithely,

'_Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman_

_Ce qui cause mon tourment?_

_Papa veut que la raisonne_

_Comme une grande personne_

_Moi je dis que les bonbons_

_Valent mieux que la raisonne_.'

The aunts laughed at the girl's matter-of-fact way of singing the words, and poor little Beth could do nothing but colour. At last Aunt March said with a rare twinkle in her eyes, 'Now, my dear, I should be quite obliged to you if you are to go along with us to France. Do you not find that very agreeable?'

Beth coloured darker, and said quickly, 'No, no, aunt, I must not accept the offer. I should rather like to stay at home with Papa and Marmee and help Meg with the little children. And Jo needs all the attention in the world, aunt, and I must not be in the way. And Jo has quite a baggage in my hands when she is gone, and I must not trouble Meg with it.'

'Baggage, my dear?' cried Aunt Carrol, fixing her hair from her fit of laughter.

'Yes, of course, aunt, Theodore Laurence.'

The aunts resumed their fits, and poor little Beth tried her best not to colour as much as she could manage. It was not quite - unusual for Aunt March to laugh at her, but Beth could really, only, colour at Aunt Carrol's soft laughter. Presently Aunt March stopped laughing, turned to Beth, and said, with a sly smile, 'Yes, dear, I shall not object your staying back, my dear. Bustle over your baggage and burden, for I should quite like to see that Laurence boy _domesticated_ when we return.'

.o.O.o.

Jo March was not very much a woman of sense, when it came to bidding_ adieu_s. She moped about the house, made sarcastic comments over everything in her trunks and scandalised Beth by embroidering her handkerchiefs so ill that once caught by Hannah and the entire stack was gone into the scraps. She climbed into the garret and shook all her pet mice and dusted the place so vigorously that her mother had to come up and beg her to stop. Amidst all the confusion Jo was causing, and the busy household trying to see to everything, Aunt March arrived in her grand chaise, and boisterously demanded for '_Josy-phine_'. Beth scrambled to greet her aunt (though mostly to prevent her from seeing the state of things in the house), and quickly took her into the parlour, instead of the drawing room, for there was where Jo had placed her trunks, and was in utter mess, and begged her to sit down.

'You must be tired, aunt, do sit down, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you can wait a quarter of an hour, for Jo is not quite in spirits to see anyone yet.'

'Then Mary and her family must not stay in the chaise. Go fetch them, my dear.'

Beth scrambled away, with a bob of her head and a fluff of her dress. Aunt March smiled with approval, and thought to herself, 'That child is worthy of any rich gentleman, I assure you, and if the Laurence boy is to - ah! Matchmaking days, I'm back!'

At last everything was settled, and the aunts were already impatient to leave, Jo was obliged to bid good-by to everyone, starting by stooping to kiss Daisy and Demi, then giving Beth a greatest hug, and kissing Meg's hand, and hugging her parents and a bustling Hannah. And when it was Laurie's turn, she could not help but stop: his face seemed suddenly pathetic, with his arms wrapped about her as she stood on the step above him, as he looked up at her.

'Oh, Jo, can't you?'

'Teddy, dear, I wish I could!'

Poor Teddy paused, straightened himself with a resolute face, said, 'It's all right Jo - oh, ne'er mind,' and went away without another word.

But it wasn't all right, and Jo did mind, for when the chaise drove away, and she glanced back at her dearest people, she felt as if she'd stabbed her dearest friend, and remembering the minute when her boy left his curly head on her shoulder, she sighed, and wished with all her heart that he might only forget her and love her deserving little sister instead.


	2. Our Foreign Correspondence

**Our Foreign Correspondence: in which our traveller writes letters**

_Dear Marmee,_

_Why has no one ever told me how jolly one can be on a ship? I can almost die of excitement. Aunt March spends most of her time feeling sick in her cabin, and so do Uncle and Flo. I daresay that leaves me to myself, for Aunt Mary does nothing but read in the library and amusing herself with a boring piece of needlework she would oblige me to help. I've befriended a little cabin boy, who can tie no ropes nor sing jolly tunes like we read in books. Little Cedric is trying to learn to read and write, and the ship's doctor and nurse helps him. The good boy never tries to curse or say silly things, and is rather wise for his age. The doctor said his father is dead, and his mother, well, not much is known of his mother, but dead, also, perhaps. The poor creature does nothing but copy his numbers and be taught about anatomy and medicines. He quite fancies me, I suppose, for the doctor and the nurse are bores. He brings me to explore the ship when the doctor isn't teaching and I've met a few jolly fellows. There's a young lady 'round Beth's age who has great likings for music and is monstrous lively. She and Beth would get along, I'm sure._

_I shall post this once I get to London, and I wish you all well. I'll try my best to find new music for our little turtle-dove, and get Aunt March to buy heaps of gloves for Meg._

_Love,_

_Jo_

_Marmee,_

_Will it much scandalise you if I said Aunt March is as displeased as ever over my befriending little Cedric? She looked as if she was about to disown me, especially when she saw I had no gloves on. Aunt Mary looked like she was about to laugh. Had I not always said Aunt Mary was the more amiable of the two? Florence, was, as usual, amused over everything, and she was obliged to laugh and be silly over everything. If Aunt March had not been there I should have gave her a good shake. She is not one bit like her mother. School has not done her any good, I suppose, and the silly schoolgirl giggle has got the better of her._

_Aunt March bought me half a dozen of gloves, of which I objected to, but was ignored, and almost got half a dozen more if I insisted. Meg shall have a great time making them into bonnets when I return, for Aunt March, with all her sensibilities, decided to take Florence's advice and buy lace gloves instead of sensible ones. That is just as intolerable as the silly girl herself. I did not manage to wheedle Aunt March into buying some for Meg, but Aunt Mary was thoughtful and secretly bought them._

_The first ride we had in London was in a great barouche, and I quite enjoyed it. It was much comfier than our American chaises, and we could enjoy the view properly without being squished and squashed like in Aunt March's chaise or one of those open carriages we sometimes hire. Flo was too busy admiring the grandness of the barouche to mind us, Aunt March was asleep, and that left Uncle to point to me the interesting things along the way. Aunt Mary sat down to sketch the sky and managed it wonderfully. How could I not know before that she could draw?_

_I am quite happy, here, and I really wish you were all here, but since you aren't, perhaps I could ask Aunt Mary to sketch some of the scenery for you to enjoy?_

_Love,_

_Jo_

_Dearest Marmee,_

_London seems a better place than in books. It is not exactly very muddy or dusty, for I am sure New York is worse. But I shall still want to be in Bath or Yorkshire more. They seem to be much better than where we are. To make it only more frustrating, Aunt March's nags constantly ring in my ears. If only she would stop trying to find faults in me!_

_Flo is a little more agreeable lately, and well, I am quite relieved. I will, perhaps, go utterly nuts if she is to continue in that manner. Aunt March has insisted in buying me new dresses, and claimed that those in my trunks looked like mourning dresses. She insisted that I dress like a fine lady, instead of a widow. Mind you, those were her very words. She means well, of course, but by Jove! I feel as if I could suffocate in these!_

_Uncle secretly bought me new books and a pretty inkstand, though I have no use of that at all. Suppose I could give it to Beth. It is only such a dainty little thing. Aunt Mary found a nice little shop that sells music, and great heavens, the great music they sell! Aunt March did not need to think twice before buying all she wanted for her favourite niece. I hope that cheers you, Beth, for I can almost imagine your dainty little smile when the paper reaches you._

_There! I have written for too long, and the aunts will croak at me, of course. All my best regards are frightened away by Aunt March's lectures, but I wish you all well, and a very happy autumn._

_Love,_

_Jo_

_Marmee,_

_We are to set off to Bath on the morrow, and the agitation shall kill me. Must I imagine all the excitement going on there, and torture myself by being unable to sleep?_

_We met Fred Vaughn this morning, and he was very much obliged to join us. He took a great fancy to Flo and was obliged to play her knight. We saw Frank, too, and his leg was getting much better. He no longer needs a crutch, only limps a little, and is very amiable, if not a little to quiet, as he once was. He asked of Beth, and was sorry to hear that she was ill, then glad when Flo added that she was mending, and was happy. Flo got mad when Frank referred to Meg as the 'governess', but quickly forgave him when he admitted that he did not know her name. Kate Vaughn is about to be Mrs Alford, and happy about it. Fred laughed at Laurie's attempts to matchmake John and her, and so did I. How horribly wrong that attempt to matchmake went. Don't I wish I could relive I again!_

_I shall send more letters in the future, for I have been monstrous busy entertaining Aunt March. I do hope she will find herself some amusements in Bath and not trouble anyone with her nags._

_Love,_

_Jo_


	3. Beth Tries to be Neighbourly

**Beth Tries to be Neighbourly: in which Beth tries to make everything better**

Beth sat sewing happily when Laurie poked his head round the door and asked if she wanted a ride. She laughed, and said with a sly smile, 'Are you coming for me, Laurie, because there is no other people willing to frolic with you?'

He grinned, and replied, 'You are the only March sister left, and of course my grandfather is not to go a-flying with me. Come, you will keep me jolly, won't you, Beth?'

Beth smiled, touched her forehead with a little nod of her pretty head, and away for her bonnet and permission. She returned with her mother, and an indulgent little smile which probably said 'bring on the bears, Theodore Laurence, I am not afraid of you'.

Mrs March gave him a little wink when they drove away, and the poor boy spent his day wondering what that meant. Beth was amiable, as usual, and did not talk about Jo, as usual. They were half way into town, when she began suddenly, 'Jo has been in Europe for 'most a month.' He started, not knowing what to say, and she continued, 'Has she not written to you?'

He looked at the little girl next to him with disbelief. 'No,' he said gruffly, after a few moments' pause.

'Shan't you write to her?'

'Harrumph,' was the only answer she received.

Beth turned away with displeasure, and a little bit of disgust, disappointed at his passiveness. She had expected something more, and perhaps just a little bit of melancholy reveries, but not on her life did she suppose he would reply with such an - an annoying manner. She had only begun to think of how she should punish him for being rude, when he said quickly, 'I'm greatly sorry, Beth, what a great donkey I was, for being so rude and unthoughtful. I deserve the utmost scolding, do I not, Beth?'

She chose not to reply, only turning away with a look that went through his heart. They remained silent thought the ride and at last they stopped at the park, and Laurie said, trying to be amiable when he offered his hand, 'Come, Miss Elizabeth, allow your knight to help you.'

Beth stole a glance at him, and replied, with the most saucy smile she could manage, 'Well, my knight that isn't in shining armour, do you think I aught forgive you for your rudeness some ten minutes ago, or should I give you some grave punishment?'

'Pray, princess, if you think I deserve to be snubbed for the next week, feel free to do so, for I am certain you cannot manage to remain so for more than three days.'

'Now, do not think me so very weak, for now Jo is gone, and I am the only one left to keep you from causing havoc, I must do all I can to discipline you.'

'Now,' he cried at once. 'That stabbed me right through the heart, Beth! Do you truly think me so insensible, as to end the world?'

'To think about what you gave Meg those few weeks I suppose if Jo had not growled at you what would have happened I tremble to think!'

'You speak constantly of Jo, and if you are to continue so I shall be displeased no end. And pray, I have no idea at all of what your intentions are, but I assure you I am no happy person over it.'

Beth turned away, making no efforts to hide her disgust and disappointment. Laurie could only feel that she has changed, not negatively, but it did not suit him as it used to. Her change was equal. Had her neighbour not said anything, anything about matrimony at all to her sister her esteem of him would not have lessened, but things have been said, and cannot be unsaid, she felt it quite impossible to see him plainly as her friend. She could recollect, when Jo had come home, red, flustered and dishevelled, having learnt of the matter, how shocked she had been! But she could not have blamed anyone but herself for not noticing, for it was evident, that the boy was growing much too fond of Jo. She knew she should have guessed that it was only the matter of time. Laurie's marrying Jo: it seemed, to her, almost natural, yet it was an impossibility. She knew their dispositions. They would quarrel all their lives and kill each other. Beth shuddered at the thought.

'You are unlike yourself,' he continued, 'the old Beth will always try to please me.'

'I must not pet you, you know,' she said slowly, carefully. 'Now that the person, whoever that may be, that would always keep you in order is gone, I must be obliged to help with the job. Look out, there is a puddle, I shall hate to see your new boots ruined. Do you not think, Mr Theodore, that you are quite talented? You have managed to make me turn away to calm myself twice in an afternoon. Do you not think that impressive?'

Laurie laughed with an incredulous look. Now I wonder, thought he, whatever in the world has caused the little creature to change so. Jo March? impossible. She was Jo's favourite sister for all her life. Quite impossible for her to be changed all of a sudden. Aunt March? rather unlikely. It was not as if Aunt March was capable of affecting young people of such dispositions. He tried to be merry, and not be ridiculous, but failed as miserably as any person could. Beth glanced at him, feeling a little awkward, turned away for fear he might see her flushed face.

'Well, I'm horridly sorry, I felt rather silly, just then, and - '

'Ah, pray, child. If you could be a little more like Jo, I suppose, it would be so much the better.'

Beth turned into the colour of a beet. Good God, thought she. If the boy goes on in this manner I shall be sadly defeated. And I shall have to run away from him every time he comes near lest he be the end of me! 'May we go home now? It is getting quite cold, and it seems as if it is about to rain. I should hate to soil my new bonnet.'

'Of course, child. Come.'


	4. Laurie Finds His Archangel

**Laurie Finds His Archangel: in which Laurie doesn't try to shove Beth away**

No words were exchanged, only a certain expressive glance that was perhaps not meant to be public was given from the courageous party. Beth perceived that he could have perhaps, had a cold in his head after the cold walk, or had perhaps hurt his head when he almost nodded off in the carriage and crashed his head onto the glass.

Mrs March was of more wit, and whispered to her daughter, 'What have you, my child, said to the boy? He seems completely out of sorts, and yet he was perfectly normal this morn.'

'I said naught, Marmee. He would not have me say anything, anything about Jo. I could do better to be a comfort, than to be a counsellor.'

Heads were patted, comforting words were said, and Beth quietly retreated to the parlour, resolving to plague the life out of the poor boy if he would not talk of Jo, or anything, anything, somehow with something to do with her.

Not much was done that afternoon, and Beth, much resolved against idleness, went off to visit her sister and have a delightful tête-à-tête with Daisy and Demi.

'Oh, my little creature, come, come,' was Mrs Brooke's warm welcome, and seizing her sister by the wrist, led her into the tiny, cosy parlour, where Daisy was playing with a bit of ribbon, and Demi was scrambling about, begging 'Marmar' for a 'fairly shorry'.

And Meg demurred, drawing her noisy boy on her laps, and when little Daisy scampered into 'Aunty Bess'' arms, she opened her favourite copy of Charles Perrault and began with her sweet little voice, 'Il était un fois un roi et une reine. Chaque jour ils se lamentaient -'

Beth laughed. 'C'est suffit, Marguerite. I fancy you can return to English. Look at your little girl.'

Daisy was perched on her favourite aunt's laps, repeating 'un roi et une reine' to herself.

Meg laughed. 'Is my French bad to our little child? Pray, Beth, have you secretly given her lessons?'

'I suppose little Daisy here is a talented little learner. I've only read her Le Petit Chaperon Rouge, and now she speaks it quite beautifully. Listen, Daisy, " Il était une fois une petite fille de village, la plus jolie qu'on eût su voir ; sa mère en était folle, et sa mère-grand plus folle encore. Cette bonne femme lui fit faire un petit chaperon rouge, qui lui seyait si bien que partout on l'appelait le petit Chaperon rouge."'

Daisy reached for the book. 'See, see, Aunty Bess! C'est Le Chat Botté !'

Demi's 'fairly shorry' was read, and the pair was quickly dismissed off to the nursery. Meg turned to her sister, with a kindly, 'Now, Beth, come. You do not always come over for a story. Has the stupid boy done anything silly?'

'Ah, no. It is nothing. I was idle for a day, and that did not quite suit me, so I ran over for a little bit of relish.'

'Ah, there lies the problem. If that boy has been running about the place you would not have been idle!'

Beth sighed. 'Perhaps you are right, sister. I know not. He acts rather strangely, you see, melancholy for a moment and suddenly passionate, then angry or sentimental. He troubles me so! If Jo is to see what state we are in, I shall be in grave trouble, literally.'

Meg laughed her own hearty laugh, much before a good-natured, 'Pray, Beth, you read that much books, and you aught know, that that is how every man acts when he is in love, and has been greatly disappointed. Come. Let us try to make amends. That boy needs only a few words, and you shall be friends again, and capital too, as Jo says.'

.o.O.o.

Laurie found Beth in the drawing room right after dinner. And yet he was not in the least surprised, for he had heard his grandfather tell her very loudly to come and play. But she was much more than surprised, for she was only halfway through thinking of what to say to him when the door was flung, or, rather, crashed open.

She started and ended with a rather inharmonious chord, standing up to run away. Laurie stared at her red face and laughed.

'No, no, pray, stay. I'm profoundly sorry I crashed in, but Lord! Your face looked so - pray, don't look at me so! I meant to say that the colour quite became you.'

Beth turned a little redder, if that was possible at all. She stuttered and fidgeted, mumbled and shook, and said at last, 'Are you not angry with me?'

'Why should I be, pray?'

'I have been rather silly yesterday, have I not?'

'Oh, yesterday! No, no, I should be the one to apologise. I have been a rude brute, and if you would ever accept my apology, Beth, I hope we might be friends again.'

Beth almost let out a breath of relief. That was easy, thought she, I fancied him to be melodramatic and weep around the house and be silly. She sighed at the thought. Fools in love: dramatic, silly, over-expressed! One could be in love and yet be sane; one could be a fool and yet not in love. And yet it is a foolish act to fall in love. More so on Laurie's part. Jo would not, could not, marry him, and it was rather evident that she would do everything to avoid it. She let out a breath, and began, 'If you may, sir, I should like to continue, and if you have a wish to stay and make fun of me, pray, do not make a noise.'

Laurie jogged away, laughing like a mad hyena. Beth opened her book and whispered to herself, 'He has drove himself mad, I suppose, and that must signify he is a fool.'

And yet it was of no great significance, for Laurie was not very much of a madman, and foolishness wear out easily. All she had to do was wait, and find him a nice young lady and then Jo and he could be friends again! That was not too hard.

.o.O.o.

The night was still, the air cold. And there was a piano playing in the night. It sounded as if a spirit had possessed the piano and was performing for the night. But Theodore Laurence was no idiot. There was only one person in town who would play the piano in the middle of the night. And of course there was only one person who would play Beethoven in the middle of the night. He stole off to the March's, and sneaked into the drawing room. Beth pretended with all her might that she did not notice he was there, but alas for the dear child, he was obliged to make faces at the glass and make her laugh.

'Come, Miss Elizabeth. Whatever in the world caused such trouble, enough for you to wake the neighbourhood with the melodrama?'

She sighed. 'You, apparently.'

'Me! I hope I have not done anything stupid enough for you to be angry with me!'

'Oh, no, pray, I meant only to say that you act so strangely, sometimes, that I do not know what to make of you! Jo is herself, and will always be herself, so please, Laurie, you will listen to me.'

'Indeed.'

'Jo told me everything.'

A pause.

'She said she couldn't love you like you did her.'

'Humph.'

'And so she said no. And you raged and said you'll be hanged to see her married off to someone else. Now, come, that is quite silly. You will marry someone else, someday, and will Jo be hanged? I suppose not. Pray, pray, listen, do not turn your head so. Laurie, please, passion will not do. Someday you will find someone that loves you and that truly deserves you. She sees you only as her boy, always getting into scrapes. Pray, it is hard enough to worry about you, and now she has to worry about breaking your heart.'

Laurie started at her for a few seconds. He did not know what to make of that. At last Beth softly patted his arm with a comforting 'Come, dear, let us be friendly, and don't be a goose. Being melancholy does not help at all.'

He touched her soft, white cheek, and whispered in her ear, in a tone she had never heard before, 'There's a good girl, Bessie. You are a fairly wonderful archangel, do you not realise that?'

Beth did not reply, but he slowly descended his head into her laps, with the affection of a puppy. Heads were patted and lullabies were sang, and the children went softly off to sleep with a great deal of peace and tranquillity that looked over them both.


	5. Explorations and Calls

**Explorations and Calls: in which Misses Vaughn and March strike up an unlikely friendship**

'Miss March, I dearly hope you will enjoy Bath: it's always lively and crowded. And my sisters are quite eager to meet you. See you all in the evening, Madam March, Mr and Mrs Carrol, Miss March, and Miss Carrol,' Fred Vaughn said before leaving the party in front of their cottage. Jo did not quite like the prospect of meeting Kate the prim or Grace the ridiculous, but she had to tolerate, that was understood, and bear it as well as Beth would. Flo was exited no end, and proclaimed the idea of meeting the sisters 'wonderful, exiting'.

The rooms were simply furnished, but better than what they had in America. But what truly exited Jo was that the was a functional writing table, in her room. And that meant no Aunt Marchs troubling her with 'Stop the writing, Josephine!' or 'Keep your gloves from the inkstand, for Lord's sake, Josy-phine!' and no Flos running about and distracting her with her fits of giggles. And the fact that the bed was large enough for the three March sisters to sleep in comfortably made Jo feel how much she wished all of her sisters were here. If only John could spare Meg. If only she could bear to leave Laurie alone, without anyone to keep him on leash. If only her father was willing to leave his fire. If only.

She sighed and changed into one of the ridiculous dresses Aunt March bought for her. A glance at it made her fear of going to Paris. Paris somehow managed to make the plainest dresses look ridiculous, and waking in one of the streets managed to make the most ridiculous dresses look plain. She thought of the plainness of Kate's dress and tried not to shudder. Ugh. She would look like an overdressed chicken. Then she slipped into the tiny slippers that were a size too small. Forcing her large feet into shoes Flo's size was perhaps one of the most ridiculous things she had ever done, for the stupid things, as Jo dubbed them, were just as stubborn as she was, and that made it completely impossible to stuff her feet in. She persisted, however, and when she finally managed to put it on, a loud rip was heard, and her left slipper split at the seams. She let out a frustrated groan, and just then Florence came knocking at her door, yelling, 'Jo, come out now. The Vaughns are waiting for us! Be quick!'

Jo really could not resist the opportunity of using sarcasm, and said amiably, while opening the door, 'Oh, my dearest cousin, did you realise how much time you need to put on a slipper?'

Flo raised an eyebrow.

Raising the broken slipper, Jo yelled in her cousin's face, 'Your stupid idea of getting Aunt March to buy my slippers your size is perhaps the most intolerable thing you've ever did in your life. And now I have nothing to wear! Lord! And Aunt March will be croaking at me for being a careless ass!'

Flo took a step back, and said with forced calmity, 'No one is to call you a donkey, my dearest cousin. And perhaps you may wear one of mine?'

'Oh, yes, indeed, I might wear yours! Look at what happened to my slipper, Flo. Unless you want yours to turn into this, pray, lend me one of yours.' Lacing insults with sarcasm was perhaps just as fun as screaming at idiots.

'Jo, Flo, what are you doing? What is it with all the nose?'

Flo blanched. 'Nothing, Mamma.'

Jo, on the other hand, took no efforts to hide her indignity. 'Aunt, I fear I might not be able to call on the Vaughns. My only slippers are spoilt.'

The slippers were examined, assurances were made, and the amiable Mrs Carrol promised two suitable pairs on the morrow, and lending her a temporary replacement for the spoilt. Flo's usual self was restored, and went off to Aunt March for some bonbons. And after some very eventful fifteen minutes, the party managed to get out of the cottage and into the barouche.

They were warmly received by the Vaughns, and Grace came skipping out to 'shake hands with Miss March and inquire of Eliza's health'. Jo went completely unfazed by her lively 'Eliza', because truly, after hearing it for at least fifty times at Camp Laurence, being incredulous over it was completely out of character. But Aunt March was less aware of certain circumstances, and quickly demanded who this Eliza was. Grace was surprisingly calm, and replied with almost no tremble at all, 'My dear madam, I suppose it is yet known to anyone but the misses March that Miss March's sister Elizabeth gives me the liberty to call her "Eliza". A lively name that is, in my opinion, my dear madam.'

Aunt March nodded at her approvingly, and said, with a smile, 'Ah, a specimen with a sharp wit and a sharp tongue also. But not sharp enough to spare one, like Josephine.' And turning to Kate, 'And this is Miss Vaughn, I suppose.'

Kate nodded with an air that was almost haughty, 'Yes ma'am.'

Grace giggled and whispered to Jo, 'I am to be Miss Vaughn in two months. Two months, Miss March, and I'm ever so happy! And also to see the back of Kate!'

'What, she _is_ engaged?'

'Oh, ever so! They are so very in love that Kate almost never notices me now. That is the best of it. I get to romp all I want.'

They went away, arm in arm, into the garden, while the others went into the drawing room for a series of small talk. Once they were safely out of proprietors' sight, Grace snatched at Jo's arm, and said quickly, 'Say, Jo, Fred was obliged to shock us that Eliza was gravely ill and might retreat to the grave in some time. Is that true?'

Jo could not help laughing. 'Well, say, Grace, if you are to believe every word that brother of yours says, well I suppose you will be retreating to your grave in no time. Now, Beth has been ill, boy not much harm was done. Scarlet fever never kills anyone if well treated. She's getting better. Aunt March dotes on her. She's everyone's pet in the family.'

'Well, that's a relief, for I heard Fred say it as if she was about to die!'

'Exaggerations, as usual. He can talk about flying pigs and that depends on your believing him or not.'

Grace smiled and sighed. 'I don't like Bath a lot, you know, Jo?'

'Why not? It seems lovely.'

'Oh, you'll love it for the first three weeks, them you'll grow utterly sick of it. It happens every time. But I'm sure we're all glad to get rid of Kate. I'm sure I am. Without anyone to tell me to be a proper lady, not to sit like this,' displaying her favourite sitting position 'or not to lie like a cat or not to romp like a vagabond. I'm sick of it all. I need a change. Young ladies have rights, you know.'

'Well, you sister sounds worse than mine. Meg will tell me to sit straight, but never tell me how not to. We have rights you know, as you say.'

'That is, Jo. Come, let us run off into the woods and explore. I must confess the walks in Bath are much more of a picturesque than London. The woods in London are full of dirt and dust.'

'I must not contradict you. If I were an artist this walk shall be paradise. May we, Grace, allow my dearest Aunt Mary with us if we are to take another walk, someday?'

'Your Aunt Mary! I hope it is not the old one! She frightens me half or of my wits!'

'Oh, no. I meant Mrs Carrol. If there were any aunt I should like to spend my precious time with it shall be Aunt Carrol, not Aunt March! Aunt March bores us all, even patient Beth.'

'Bah! Your Aunt March seems a very interesting person, if not a little frightening. I had rather spend my time with her than my sister.'

'Huh. I assure you Aunt March will tell you the same things your sister is obliged to.'

'Ah, at least there would be a little bit of excitement. Kate is a boring old lack of excitement. Your aunt is quite interesting. If you would not contradict me Jo, let us be jolly and enjoy the pretty walk. Look at the sky: it seems as if it is the sea. I miss the sea. I wish Papa would bring us to Canada again. I want to see proper snow, not London snow. It never snows properly in London.'

'It snows nicely enough in Concord,' Jo began, but Grace cried with a great deal of alacrity,

'Oh, no! There is no place in the world with better snow than Canada. I remember Quebec best. Everyone spoke French and it was pretty.'

Their conversation thus started to spread from peculiar sized shoes to Beth's cats and from blancmange to pianos. And when they finally finished talking about The Mysteries of Udulpho both decided it was turning dark and turned back into the house.

They found their party already seated in the dining room. They scrambled to their seats quite abashed. Kate glanced at her sister with a scrutinising glance, and was returned with an equally disapproving one from her mother. Mrs Vaughn, a very amiable and talkative woman, turned to Jo, and said, with a pretty smile,

'Miss March, is your family in prefect health? I heard from my son that your younger sister is not quite hearty.'

Grace muffled her giggles in her napkin, and Jo, with a shake of her head, said, 'Oh, no, ma'am. I has merely told him that she had not been doing well for some time, but is, at the moment, thriving. Is your son always prone to exaggerating?'

Mr, Mrs, and the younger Miss Vaughn laughed. 'My dear,' cried the master, 'you are too amiable! How can you be so very - indifferent when you say such things?'

'Oh, I am quite used to it,' and turning to Fred, 'Sir, you must not deceive your parents of my sister's health. She is just as strong as she was if not stronger.'

Kate, starting to grow impatient of the subject, put in, 'Miss March, how is the governess?'

'Governess?' asked Flo.

Miss March and Miss Grace both rolled their eyes towards the ceiling, and remarked, almost in unison, 'Her name is Meg.'

Frank stiffened a laugh, and pinched his nose lest his orange juice come out of it. Kate gave him a sideways glance of disdain. Mrs Vaughn shook her head at both of them and rang for their supper. 'I hoped dearly that my children shall be able to get along nicely, but I suppose I have been greatly disappointed.'

Grace cackled behind her napkin. 'It's all because of Kate. When she is gone, I am quite sure I will get along very well with Fred and Frank. I hate to say so, but if she had been less of a bore I could have had a very good time with the boys.'

Kate stared at her sister with a mixture of distaste and guilt. But as to talking, she had no chance, for dinner was at once brought, and her mother gave her a stern glance that probably said 'Taking disallowed when food is served'.

Grace took her friend away into the shrubbery after dinner, glad to escape her sister. 'I heard Miss Roberts and her sisters are in Bath. We must call on them. I have always wanted to visit Miss Anne. You will come with me, will you not?'

'I do not particularly like calls,' admitted Miss March. 'But it seems a better alternative compared to staying in the tiny cottage with Aunt March. Are the Misses Roberts amiable people?'

'Undoubtedly! I only wish their brother was slightly younger! He is such a pleasant person! Had he been perhaps just a little younger I might fancy myself in love.'

'I'm sure he cannot be very old. Come and 'fess. Your sister does not approve, does she not? And you oblige her? Now that is absolutely silly.'

'Oh, pray, Jo, don't tease me! He is quite old, indeed! He must be about seven and twenty, or perhaps eight and twenty! Such a difference of age! And oh, I am but seventeen, and when I am fit to marry he shall have found some handsome young lady with a great deal of money. I am nothing to him. He hardly notices me when I talk. It is so very hard. If only I should have a sensible sister to talk to. But Kate never cares about me. Self-absorbed, selfish schoolmarm!'

'If you are to talk of schoolmarms, Grace, I have a very model one for you,' Jo said, starting to laugh.

'Oh, I hope you would not recommend yourself, for that is completely ridiculous, nor any of your sisters, for they are too amiable to be anything near a schoolmarm,' Grace yelped, alarmed and, as Jo observed, turned up the right side of her nose.

Jo laughed. 'Never! I meant to say Aunt March. She is the queen of all schoolmarmish people in the world. If every young lady in the world had an aunt like her, I am quite certain the world will be an insufferable place to live in!'

And they laughed heartily, forgetting everything about a certain Mr Graham Roberts, and ran into the house arm in arm, laughing like maniacs, earning a scolding from their respective schoolmarms.

Author's note: So I changed Grace's age from 9 to around 12 during Camp Laurence, because I really wanted her to be close to Beth, that she may have a friend that she shares some similarities with (not silliness, though). And also the Little Women age logic is weird, I'm setting their ages to: Meg is a year older than Jo, and Jo is 3 years older than Beth. Which makes Beth, presently 17.

Bonus: In Little Women, Meg is 16, Jo is 15, Beth is 13 and Amy is 12. In Good Wives, when Daisy and Demi are a year old, which means Meg must be at least 21, Beth is 17. *insert confused maths lady meme* At the end of Good Wives, it is said that Mrs March has five grandchildren, Demi, Daisy, Rob, Bess and Teddy. In Little Men, Demi and Daisy are 10, Rob and Bess are 5, Teddy is 3 and Meg has a new baby, Josie. Jo's Boys, which takes place ten years after Little Men, Josie is 14, which means by logic, she is older than Teddy, and should be 4 in Little Men, and should appear at the end of Good Wives, and Mrs March should have six grandchildren instead of five. Rant over. Thank you for reading.


	6. Aunty Bess and the Evil Sorcerer

**Aunty Bess and the Evil Sorcerer: in which Sallie Gardiner Moffat vists the Brookes**

Meg summoned her children around her, and declared, with a dramatic spread of her arms, 'We have special guest to-day, and our special guest shall tell you a great story, what do you think of that?'

Daisy giggled and declared that it was her dearest Aunty Bess, and Demi at once pronounced that he should like to hear a new story about Mother Goose. Their mother laughed. 'Oh no, no. Your special guest is Mrs Moffatt. Aunty Bess shall tell you her story after Mrs Moffatt has. Come, Sallie, nothing to be afraid of my children.'

Said Mrs Moffatt sneaked out of her hiding place, and whispered in her friend's ear, 'Not your children that I am afraid of. Your husband seems intimidating enough to keep bears away. Now I see the secret to a happy household. You must have a very stern man to keep all the evils away. Ned does nothing but enjoy himself in the billard room or the library. I have no taste for either.'

'I wish I had a decent library! The books in ours are so thoroughly read that I might almost tell you every word I have read. Come, you must sit in the middle of the room. They shall not listen if you are not properly seated in the middle of their "story-telling circle",' and turning to her sister, 'Beth, dear, don't be shy, Sallie doesn't bite. Daisy shall love to have her dearest Aunty Bess hugging her.'

Beth gingerly came out of her corner, and softly hugged her little niece, as her brother bended over her, declaring, 'Daisy seems to completely attached to her Aunty Bess, don't you think, Beth?' and then said in a soft whisper, 'I heard Meg found you and Laurie in the parlour this morning, you know, and Lord, I hope he has not done anything stupid.'

'Well, I must say, he has not done any stupid thing stupider than he ought, and that, I suppose, is sufficient.'

'He does not rant about sister Jo, then?'

'No! Why should he?'

'Hmm,' he muttered, raising his eyebrow.

'John!' Meg hissed from her footstool, glancing at Sallie, who was trying to make Demi pay attention to her. John turned away from his sister and returned to his papers, with a queer expression. Sallie turned to the children, and began awkwardly, 'So, what story do you want to hear?'

'A fairly shorry!' Demi cried at once.

Sallie glanced at Meg. 'What is that?'

'He means a fairy story,' Daisy whispered, smoothing out the creases on her aunt's dress. 'Is it not, Aunty Bess?'

The affirmative was answered, and Sallie, bending over Demi, asked, 'What kind of fairy story would you like to hear?'

'If you would make one up at once, Sallie, we'll love it,' Meg chirped from her footstool, patting Demi's head.

'If you would do it as well as Beth,' John whispered and Beth turned redder than a beetroot, turning to her sister as if to seek help. Meg glanced slyly at her husband, and said loudly, 'John Brooke the elder requests that the story must contain Aunty Bess.'

Sallie laughed. 'Then that is easier! I could talk about Aunty Bess and the evil sorcerer,' and Beth, amongst the laughing, turned rather pink. 'How will you like it, Miss Elizabeth?'

'Not very much, ma'am,' she said frankly. 'I'd rather not.'

Meg laughed. 'Come, Beth, don't be a wet blanket. Why don't we play rigmarole, like the time we did at Camp Laurence? It's high time we do that again. Sallie shall start, and we'll continue the story about Aunty Bess and the evil sorcerer. Come, John, I'm sure you can spare a few minutes from your paper. I am almost certain there is no harm done in putting it for the length of a story.'

Mrs Moffat laughed again, and began, in the most gothic sounding voice she could manage, 'There was once a pretty young girl called Bess. She loved everything and was always happy, and that made her the best aunt amongst her niece and nephew's aunts. Despite being shy, Aunty Bess was very brave, and everyone loved her. But one day, a great, old man came into town. He had long, white hair and a long, white beard. He wore a tall, pointy hat and a big, black cloak. He brought along a big, black cat and a big, black, burnt cauldron. Everyone in town disliked him at once, even kind, pretty little Aunty Bess. Everyone called the man an evil sorcerer, and that he was.'

'And one day,' Mrs Brooke began, 'little Cressida was kidnapped. Everyone knew it was the evil sorcerer. But no one said anything. They were much too afraid of him! The next day, little Trolus was gone also. Some of the villagers wanted to fight the man. But the other villagers were afraid. They did not know what he would do to them.' And turning aside to her son, 'Demi, my dear, sit still and not fidget so. Do not do that with your sister's frills. I shall hate to starch them again,' resuming the story, 'The day after that, poor little Ophelia went missing too! Now there was nothing the villagers could say against fighting the evil sorcerer. Aunty Bess, poor Aunty Bess, didn't like it. She didn't like that the villagers ran towards the sorcerer's house holding stakes and pitchforks. She didn't like that the villagers ran towards the sorcerer's house screaming "Kill the evil sorcerer!". Aunty Bess didn't like it. She didn't like the man, but she didn't like cruelty more. Daisy, love, do you understand what cruelty is? Yes, sweetie, being mean, that is. But what could she do? Her sisters were part of the mob, though they did not bring pitchforks and stakes. The evil sorcerer, the evil, scheming beast he was, noticed them approaching, used his magic on them all and killed them!' At this little Daisy gasped and declared that no one would be as cruel as to kill people for fun.

John laughed, and continued, 'Aunty Bess ran towards the sorcerer's house, and upon seeing the bodies on the floor, was much too frightened to go on. What if she were to see her sisters'? But brave Aunty Bess walked on, determined to find the evil sorcerer. She went to the end of the corridor, and there sat the old man and his cat, slowly cooking something in the cauldron.

'"What are you cooking?" Aunty Bess asked.

'"Something to eat," the man replied sourly.

'"Truly?" Aunty Bess asked, peering over the pot. What he was cooking, as it seemed, was a pot of harmless chicken stew. But Aunty Bess didn't really like the smell of chicken stew and said gently, "Eww."

'"Don't you like it?" the old man asked.

'"Indeed, I do not. I never liked the smell of stew."

'The old man laughed. "Sit down, girl. I had not company for years. You seem nice enough."

'"But what about the people in the corridor? Are they dead? What about my sisters?" Aunt Bess cried.

'"The people in the corridor had too much of my sleeping powder, which, undoubtedly, is completely my fault; and as for your sisters, they found out my library and now they refuse to cone out."

'"And what about the children? Cressida, Trolus and Ophelia?"

'"Oh, those insolent, uncultured creatures. They are in the nursery, presently being briefed on how to be polite to old people. If you insist on seeing them safe, the nursery is in the library. Three doors from here," the old man said with a look of disdain.

'Aunty Bess almost laughed. So this old man was a sorcerer, but a humourous, amiable one. She skipped into the library, to see her sisters slumped on the sofa, reading their heads off.

'"You must come and see this, Bess!" Aunty Josie cried. "So many books! Never in my life will i call that old man a sorcerer! Imagine being in this library all your life!"

'Aunty Bess glanced at Aunty Maggie, who was presently engrossed in Middlemarch. Aunty Bess decided that it should be of no use talking to her,' (here he glance at his wife who was now glaring daggers at him) 'and went off to the nursery, where an old lady was reciting to the tree children on how to behave and be polite children. "Eww," thought Aunty Bess, "but it could have been worse. She could have been reciting Fordyce's sermons!"'

Here his wife, her sister and her best friend started to laugh, and Mr Brooke continued, 'The poor - well, on second thoughts, not so very poor - children sat there, motionless, perhaps half bored to death, looked up and saw Aunty Bess, and cried, "Oh, thank the Lord Miss Bess has come! We fancied we shall be bored to death here!" The old lady looked as if she was about to shoot daggers from her eyes if that was physically possible.

'"Sit down, children. Have you not been taught that you must not talk during lessons?"

'"This is hardly a lesson," Trolus grumbled. "This is more of a punishment."

'"At least now you know you have been wrong to be rude to the poor old man," Aunty Bess remarked curtly. She walked away, saying to herself, "Some children do deserve to be punished, if they are insolent. Now I shall indulge myself in a good book." And Aunty Bess, the peacemaking turtledove, took the nearest book off the shelf and slumped into the sofa. "Hmm... The Monk. I wonder what it's about." Aunty Maggie and Aunty Josie, glancing at her and seeing the title, both gave out a chilling shriek and removed the book.

'"Leave such books, Bess, for the future. Here is something worth reading," Aunty Maggie said, replacing the book with another.

'"Hmm. Northanger Abbey. I don't wonder if funny things happen," Aunty Bess said, laughing to herself.'

'What a piece if nonsense we've made!' Sallie cried. 'And most of it is Mr Brooke's fault. The sorcerer was meant to be evil!'

'I only meant to make it child-friendly, and also teach them to always be polite to the elderly,' John said at once.

Beth laughed. She really did not think Meg's children needed such lessons.

Presently Daisy looked up at her and said, with mock innocence, 'What happened, Aunty, between you and Uncle Laurie?'


	7. Letters of Correspondence

**And I have just discovered my very grave mistake in the previous version, and so here is the updated, 10/4/2019**

* * *

Louvre, Paris

_Grace,_

_We have safely arrived in Paris, if you are concerned of our well being, and I must confess that I am having a most miserable time and yet it is so very wonderful._

_Aunt March was obliged to make us all uncomfortable, even Flo and Aunt Mary, with her horrid cutting remarks and by forcing us into ridiculous Paris dresses. Uncle Carrol is the only person who can tolerate her, but considering he is not the ones forced into dresses that suffocates one, I shall say that it isn't fair at all._

_But we shall only be here for a week, then we shall go to Rome, then Florence (that's a joke, don't you see?). Aunt March shall be croaking all the way there, the way she did when we traveled from London to Bath. I almost cannot wait to get back there, considering that is where all my favourite things are. I miss the theatre. Don't you? Aunt Mary is bringing us to see Faust and to be completely honest with you, I am ever so excited. I must try to remember every bit of it that we may do it when we return to Concord. Meg shall be Marguerite and I shall be Faust. What a capital party we'll make!_

_But apart from shopping, we have not done much but see a single play. It wasn't very good. It was an English thing and the actors spoke it rater ill. I did not enjoy it at all, though the story was good. Aunt Mary was weeping like a simpleton at the end of it in spite of the horrid English. Flo was mortified for the very reason, and would not admit she rather liked it, and would love it if she could see it in English. I wonder if it has ever been played in Bath or perhaps London. Then you might have seen it in good English. I heard it's called The Tears of Mary Wytte. An intolerably sentimental title, if you would ask me. I can vaugely remember what it is about. Perhaps we can do it in understandable English. I am certain Meg and Beth will love it. There are not many people half as sentimental as they._

_I am afraid I have bored you for too long. I must leave you, and perhaps, if you prove a faithful correspondent, we might exchange more words._

_With all respects of friendliness,_

_Jo March_

Concord, Massachusettes

_Dear Jo,_

_There! I promised to return your letters, and here I am. Meg and I have developed a gereat interest in The Tears of Mary Wytte and I do hope you might finish writing it soon, that we may read it. Laurie is greatly jealous that you may see Faust, and has been grumbling all day. Perhaps you should write to him about what you have seen in Paris? He seems disappionted that you only gave him a brief account of what has happened. Was not The Tears of Mary Wytte written by Mrs Fitzsimons? I am almost certain it was. Is she not the god mother of the great Mrs Lucy Branscombe Fitzsimons? Grace once told me that she heard her sing Faust in London. It must be wonderful._

_Should you help me find some music in Germany? I shall be ever so obliged to you. Laurie is pinning away in want of fresh things to play. He'd bought everything he could get his hands on in the little shop out of displeasure and now he is a whining mess. You would say 'serves him right' and ignore me outright, I am sure, but for my sake, Jo, I am sure you will try you best._

_I have been too trying: Meg wants the rest of the papers. I shall stop here, lest she has not space enough to write._

_Love,_

_Beth_

_Jo,_

_How is Rome? I am fairly certain of your enjoying calm winds and smells of old things mixed with olives. You asked for an account of things and so here it is._

_Father and Marmee are well, oh - more than well, in fact. Beth keeps them jolly with her cheerfulness. Beth is herself, a regular archangel, as you would say. She'd tamed Laurie, you know? I fancied he'd have the life plagued out of her, you see, but they came home perfectly whole after a ride to town. Here I was wondering what miracle has happened to not make them strangle each other, and the next morning they were found in the parlour, Laurie's head in Beth's laps, the little girl's cheek on his shoulders. John laughed, Marmee grinned, Father went back into his library, and had fits of laughter. My God, I thought I would die. They looked so peaceful! It was almost impossible to think of something much more than that. (And here the writer had to stiffle a laugh) We went away and left Marmee to wake them, and our Beth could not bear to see the boy for days._

_Oh, I almost forgot. Professor Bhaer called yesterday, and asked for you. He seemed rather devishelled. And when he was told that you were away, he looked downcast at once, and begged us to write to you. He is returning to Germany, Jo. Which part of Germany, I know not, but Beth told him to write when he arrived, that we may tell you where he is, and might, perhaps, if you have the heart, write to him._

_Be good, Jo, and stay strong, for all our sakes, we are all here to help you._

_Love,_

_Meg_

Bath, Somerset

_Jo,_

_You asked in your last letter about Mrs Fitzsimmons' play, and no: I have not seen it, but I have read the book, and it was a great love story. But it was not like Romeo and Juliet. It would be rather horrid if it were. I quite pity Mary, you know. And Graham also. The women who claimed to be Graham's lovers were most despicable. Especially Augusta Elliott. I wanted to throw things at her face, I tell you! There is nothing quite as punchable as she. I could have Fred to send you a copy. It is not so very expensive. Only a few shillings._

_Kate is to marry that boring Mr Alford in a week, and I cannot help but think, how happy she will be, married to a person just as boring as she is. Their children will be boringly perfect creatures, and they will not enjoy little games Frank, Fred and I so liked as children. Well! I shall hate to be called their fun, silly aunt! I am sure Kate will tell them to call me that. She can be that vicious. Mother told me to ask uou if you and your aunts might want to come along. Not to celebrate Kate's being happily married, but to celebrate our getting rid of that prim prig, in my opinion, at least._

_I think Fred is completely smitten with your cousin. He asked me, a few days ago, on my opinion of Miss Carrol; and I could only say your opinion of her: 'rather prone to giggles, not too bright for a such educated young lady, although very annoying at times, is still a delightful being to have around', and poor boy almost had me drowned in the washstand. Shan't you ask her what she thinks of him? I made Frank say something on the matter, and the poor boy, my poor Frank, looked at me with his soft, brown eyes and asked, with so much pain in his cracking voice and teary eyes, 'do not ask me, Grace. I cannot bear to loose another sibling. If you are to marry your Mr Roberts, at least wait until I am gone.' Good Lord! Is that to imply that I must never marry, or that our boy does not want to live longer? Can you get Eliza to write to him? She always cheers him up._

_Send my regards to your family: for Fred's sake and mine._

_Regards,_

_Grace_

Concord, Massachusettes

_Dear Frank,_

_Your sister Grace bade me to write to you: you seemed unwell. Is it because of your sister's marrying? My own sister did not move very far away when she was married, and we see each other everyday, but I still miss having her around the house. But I must not dwell upon such distressing matters: it is unfair._

_I have not much things to say, you know. I asked Jo to send us a few books and perhaps new music for the dear little piano, but they are only on the way. How exited I am for The Tears of Mary Wytte! I have heard of Mrs Fitzsimons so long ago, but father could find it nowhere in America! Grace was too kind to offer to send a copy._

_How did you find Jo? I am afraid she has not changed much: you will not expect to see a refined, graceful young lady in the place of the dear, blunt girl. I am glad of it despite myself, and so is Meg. I hope you remember her. She is the pretty one, that your sister Kate spent most of her time talking to, at Camp Laurence._

_I really do not know what else can I add. Perhaps I shall wish Miss Vaughn a happy marriage with Mr Alford? But I am rather afraid it shall upset you more. Send my dearest regards to Grace, your brother and sister, and your parents also, and I do truly hope that you will not be so forlorn._

_Your friend,_

_Beth._


End file.
